Cheers, Darlin'
by Samantha14
Summary: She remembers it well. Her marriage. His toast. His packing. The reason they are together now. She remembers it well. Completed.
1. Cheers, Darlin'

Title: Cheers, Darlin'  
Chapter 1: Cheers, Darlin'  
Disclaimer: I gots nothin'.  
Summary: She's getting married, and there's nothing he can do to stop it. So he drowns his sorrows in a bucket of whiskey and toasts her from afar.  
A/N: Two-shot. Both based on songs from Damien Rice's album "O". This chapter is based on "Cheers, Darlin'." Rating because of one small expletive. The _him_ in italics is the other man. The regular he is the main character.

* * *

He sits at the corner of the bar, a whiskey in his hand. He watches as a group of people make a toast to each other, smiling. 

_Cheers, darlin'  
Here's to you and your lover boy_

He lifts up his own glass in a mock toast. Here's to her. Her and _him_.

He throws back his head, swallowing the last of his whiskey, and asks for another.

_Cheers, darlin'  
I got years to wait around for you_

He's been waiting for years already. He's been waiting since the day he left her the first time. He's just kept waiting, all these years. What's a few decades more?

_Cheers, darlin'  
I got your wedding bells in my ear_

He checks the clock and sees that it's that time. Right now, she and her lover boy should be exchanging vows, both dressed in white, although he knows that she shouldn't be.

He can almost hear the bells ringing, even though it's happening more than two hours away.

_Cheers, darlin'  
You gave me three cigarettes to smoke my tears away_

The last time he saw her, he'd been two months nicotine free.

And then she'd dropped that bomb.

"I'm getting married! Two weeks from today. Isn't it exciting!"

That day, he made his way through three packs.

_And I  
Die  
When you mention  
His name_

The thing that kills him the most is that she neglected to mention the engagement until almost too late. She'd been engaged for eight months when she finally told him. They'd even seen each other at least once every week during those eight months.

He never thought it was that serious. He hated when she talked about _him_, tried to steer the subject as far away as he could. But he never succeeded enough, and she always talked about _him_, the latest thing _he_ was doing.

He'd always hated _him_, if only on principle. He'd never met _him_, but he was sure if they ever met, they wouldn't make fast friends.

_And I  
__Lied  
__I shoulda kissed you  
__When we were running the reins_

He has always wished he hadn't left her like he did. Any of the times he left her. He's always felt like things would have been better if he'd stayed on the bus that day, and kissed her instead of leaving. If he'd stuck around after his announcement, letting it sink in, and then kissed her. If he'd kissed her in her dorm room, making her "No!"s fade into silence.

If only he'd been better. Different. Then everything would all be better.

_What am I, darlin'?  
__A whisper in your ear?  
__A piece of your cake?_

He wants to be the voice in her ear. That nagging voice in the back of her brain, telling her that what she is doing is wrong. Telling her that the past is better. Telling her that she needs him.

He knows what he is, though. Part of her cake. The cake she has, and eats too. He's that person she can always run to when no one else was there. That person that is part of her past, but not her future. The person that she can cheat on _him _with, if the occasion rises. Or just her substitute _him_.

_What am I, darlin'?  
__The boy you can fear?  
__Or your biggest mistake?_

He wants to be the one person she can't run to. The one person who can ruin everything. The one person who still makes her weak in the knees when he isn't supposed to. The one person she can't trust herself around.

But he knows. He knows that she regrets being with him. Knows that she thinks of him as only a minor distraction, the one person who made her senior year of high school a living hell. He knows that she used him to bide time until she went back to her first boyfriend, her real boyfriend. And he knows that she hated everything she'd done while they were together, hated the person she'd become.

She only came to like him after they'd broken up and hadn't seen each other for years.

_Cheers, darlin'  
__Here's to you and your lover man_

He remembers when she met _him_. She told him, excited at this new man in her life. She spent hours in his small New York apartment, telling him every detail of _their_ time together.

He'd become her girlfriend, when all he ever wanted to be was her boyfriend. Her one and only.

_Cheers, darlin'  
__I just hang around and eat from a can_

Since she'd met _him_, he'd lost all appetite. He has stopped cooking. He's stopped going out. He has become the epitome of bachelorhood, eating uncooked food from cold cans.

He disgusts even himself.

_Cheers, darlin'  
__I got a ribbon of green on my guitar_

She bought him a guitar. He'd mentioned how he felt like a fraud for critiquing music and never having played a chord.

So she bought him a guitar.

It sits in his apartment, standing alone in a corner. He passes it every once in a while, and feels bad for not playing it.

She left a ribbon in his apartment once. It fell from her hair while they were talking one night, and she never asked for it back. He tied it around the strings of the guitar he never played. It was green.

He always thought that was hilarious. She left a green ribbon in her jealous ex-boyfriend's apartment.

While engaged to her new boyfriend, he realized later.

He still can't play a note.

_Cheers, darlin'  
__I got a beauty queen  
__To sit not very far  
__From here_

He made up girlfriends. He went on blind dates, he had one night stands. But he made up girlfriends. Found old pictures and showed them to her, hoping to incite the jealously he felt in her.

She always smiled at him and congratulated him.

She always had been stupid, even for being so smart.

_I  
__Die  
__When he comes around  
__To take you home_

He almost met _him_ once. She was at his apartment earlier than usual, and _he _came to pick her up. She tried to buzz _him _up, but he wouldn't let her.

He chain smoked five and a half cigarettes as he watched _him_ lead her away.

_I'm  
__Too shy  
__I should have kissed you  
__When we were alone_

He'd never thought of himself as shy until he let her go.

Ever since then, he's secretly called himself a coward.

Even now, as he sips his seventh whiskey of the evening, he wishes that he'd kissed her. Last night, when they were alone together in his apartment, they were close. Closer than they've been in years.

He mentally kicks himself.

_What am I, darlin'?_

He wants to ask her, to come right out and demand that their relationship be defined.

_A whisper in your ear?_

He remembers the night they met again, the night they met as soon-to-be step-cousins. Halfway through the party, he'd made his way to her side and started whispering a running commentary in her ear, causing her to laugh.

He'd always liked that sound.

_A piece of your cake?_

For her twenty-fifth birthday, she'd had another picture cake, this time a collage. He'd been part of a picture in the top right corner, next to old friends from high school and college.

He's been delegated to a tiny spot in her collage. To him, it signifies the tiny role he's taken in her life. He's no longer her boyfriend. He's hardly even her ex-boyfriend anymore. He seems to be that one friend, that _other_ friend you've got. Not a best friend, but little more than an acquaintance.

_What am I, darlin'?_

What is he? Her latest acquaintance?

He didn't even register an invitation to the wedding. One hundred and eighty spots, and _Kirk_ gets to go instead.

He is fuckin' family, even.

He waves his empty glass around, ready for his tenth whiskey.

_The boy you can fear?_

This is the first time he's ever felt non-threatening to a woman.

He's used to being the other man, the rebound guy, that boyfriend who can ruin your reputation and morals like _that_.

This is the first time he's non-threatening.

And he hates it.

_Or your biggest mistake? _

Sometimes he wonders if it's a mistake that they got involved at all. After all, she was perfectly happy. He was just there to cause trouble.

But she ended up causing him more trouble than he caused her.

After all, who else could turn him into a sentimental fool, drinking twelve glasses of whiskey just to drown out her voice?

_Oh, what am I?  
__What am I, darlin'?  
__I got years to wait..._

It's true. He does have years to wait. And he's going to wait, waiting until she finally comes to her senses.

He orders another whiskey, and lifts it in another mock-toast.

_Cheers, darlin'._


	2. Prague

Title: Cheers, Darlin'  
Chapter 2: Prague  
Disclaimer: I gots nothin'.  
Summary: She's married now, but he might be able to do something about it. He partakes in some liquid courage and packs to leave.  
A/N: Two-shot. Both based on songs from Damien Rice's album "O". This chapter is based on "Prague," a hidden song on the last track.

* * *

He's finally done it.

He's finally completely insane.

And it's all her fault.

He is packing today. It is taking him a ridiculously long amount of time to pack one simple suitcase. He's only heading out of the country, after all. He only has one thing to do.

_I'm all dressed up with you_

_All dressed up for him, too_

He is in a suit. He never wears suits. He _hates_ suits. They make him feel stuffy and old, two things he's never desired to be.

He is wearing a suit for her. He knows she will be dressed nicely, and he's dressed nicely too.

He can't believe it. He is traveling out of the country to break _them_ up.

He feels stupid, petty, jealous, small.

But he's dressed in his one and only suit, pressed to look his best, dressed to impress.

He wants to win her back, and show _him_ up.

He shakes his head as he finishes packing, trying to find the three button-down shirts he bought last weekend, when he heard about this.

He wants to damn his aunt and uncle for knowing about his interest in her. He wants to damn them and love them at the same time. Only his aunt would express her dissatisfaction with him one minute, and then tell him where to find her daughter the next.

And only his uncle would take him aside and give him pointers. Only his uncle would tell him what to bring, what to wear, what to expect.

_Prepare myself for a war_

_Before I even open up my door_

He knows that this will be hard. Hell, it's been hard the past four years, harder in the two years since they've been married.

He knows that he will have to put up a fight. He knows that this fight could become more than figurative, and he could have a real knock-down drag-out fight with her new husband.

But he's ready. He's ready, willing, and waiting to go. He wants to go. He wants to fight. He's been waiting for years. He doesn't think he will last much longer. He is almost afraid that he will explode soon.

He is afraid that the next time he sees _them_ at a family gathering, he will be unable to grin and bear it. He is afraid that he will attack _him_ there, causing horrible repercussions.

After all, all family gatherings include her grandparents. Her father. Three people he doesn't want to cross. Three people he'd rather not see again until after he fights for her.

_Cheers, darlin'_

_Here's to you and your lover_

He pours himself a glass of whiskey, his liquid courage of choice. He is glad that he has a first-class ticket, glad that he has free vouchers for liquor.

He doesn't know if he can do this without whiskey. He knows that makes him vaguely alcoholic, but judging from his family tree, he probably is an alcoholic.

Besides, it's just easier to punch your ex-girlfriend's husband when you're at least slightly inebriated.

_I'm all dressed up for Prague_

She is in Prague for an international convention, one that could propel her into superstardom among the network bosses. She is going to be dressed in her best, her mother said. She is going to be nervous, maybe tipsy as well, smiling and laughing too much. She is going to be there with her husband, but she almost certainly will not be hanging all over _him_. _They_ almost certainly will fight the entire time _they_ are there, because she is preoccupied with work.

In short, it is perfect for him.

He boards the non-stop plane without trepidation. He is in his best suit. He only has two whiskeys in him.

There is no reason why this shouldn't work.

Even if it doesn't….

He's got years.


	3. I Remember

Title: Cheers, Darlin'  
Chapter 3: I Remember  
Disclaimer: Nope, nothin'.  
Summary: She remembers it well. Her marriage. His toast. His packing. The reason they are together now. She remembers it well.  
A/N: All right, fine. Three shot. All songs from Damien Rice's album "O". This chapter is based on "I Remember", but just the part sung by Lisa Hannigan.

* * *

She lies on his couch—their couch, she corrects herself. She smiles and pulls the blanket tighter around her. "Their couch." She loves the sound of that, loves that they have a couch together, an apartment together….

She marvels at the fact that it took them years to get where they are now. She even had a brief interlude with another man—

She scoffs at herself. She's reduced her first marriage to "a brief interlude." She knows that he wouldn't put it that way, either man.

She was married for two years. Two horrible, horrible years. Well, to be fair, it was a very good six weeks, a kind of okay eleven months, a not very good six months, and then six horrible months.

They broke up in Prague.

She laughs. They met in New York, got married in Stars Hollow, and broke up in Prague. What a strange relationship they had.

They were in Prague for her, a wonderful amazing absolutely fabulous opportunity for her. It was an international convention of reporters with networks from all over the world.

She was so nervous she drank eighteen glasses of wine on the plane over.

She made quite an impression on the network executive she almost threw up on.

She doesn't know why she is thinking of this today…that day was so long ago, another two years in the past. And then she remembers—two years ago exactly.

She smiles.

_I remember it well  
__The first time that I saw  
__Your head 'round the door  
_'_Cause mine stopped working_

She had just gotten into another fight with her husband, the third since they'd arrived. She was drinking yet another glass of champagne, her eye on the door to see if anyone more interesting arrived.

And he appeared.

The door slowly opened and his head peeked through. He glanced at the doorman, wondering if he was really allowed to be in there.

"No invitation needed," she'd whispered, watching as the doorman nodded at him and let him in.

She stopped moving, stopped thinking, stopped _breathing_.

It was him.

He was there.

What was he doing there?

Oh. It didn't matter.

_I remember it well  
__There was wet in your hair  
__You were stood in the stair  
__And time stopped moving_

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on the banister, the other holding her champagne. She watched as he stood there, scanned the crowd for her, or her husband; she wasn't sure which. She noticed the droplets of rain in his hair, the sprinkling of water on the shoulders of his jacket.

He was wearing a suit.

She remembers his suit with a smile. That was the first time she'd seen him all dressed up. She remembers thinking that he cleaned up well.

As a matter of fact, that's the first thing she said to him after he'd confronted her husband.

He confronted her husband quietly. He just walked up to her husband and said a few choice phrases. Her husband's face seemed to turn to stone, and he glanced back at her. She smiled at him, a tight smile, a smile saying, "What can I do?" without actually shrugging. Her husband set his champagne glass on the nearest table and walked away.

The next time she heard from her husband, he was her ex-husband.

_I want you here tonight, want you here  
_'_Cause I can't believe what I've found  
__Want you here tonight, want you here  
__Nothing is taking me down_

She sits up as she hears the elevator moving. It is, oh, so late. She wants him home, right now. He has gone to the store, to pick up things for them. He has only been gone for twenty minutes, maybe more.

But she wants him home. She wants him home right this second, and not any later.

She smiles. She can't remember ever feeling this way before. She wants it to last, wants it to stay.

She doesn't remember any good feeling ever lasting this long with anyone else.

She remembers this feeling from years ago, way back when, back before they found each other again.

She shudders when she thinks of how she hurt him. She hurt him only to get back at him, only because he hurt her.

But, oh. He hasn't hurt her lately. They've been together for two years now…had found each other six years before that. It has been eight years since they found each other again…they are both older, and more mature, and more confident in their commitment to each other.

She sits up again. The elevator is moving again, and this time he has been gone for thirty minutes. It must be him, it has to be him.

She grins as she hears the key in the door.

He's home!

He opens the door and pauses.

"Hey," he says after a minute, continuing to take the key from the door.

She smiles. "Hey."

"I'm back," he says simply, setting his keys on the table by the door.

"I know," she says back, just as simply.

"Any particular reason why you were staring at the door?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. He sits next to her on the couch, facing her, and raises an eyebrow. She blushes and buries her head in her hands. After a minute, she looks back at him.

"Welcome home, Jess," she whispers softly.

"No," he protests, leaning to kiss her. "Welcome home, Rory."

When they separate again, he picks her up. She squeals.

"Put me down!"

He holds her in that clichéd way, the way grooms carry their brides over thresholds.

He ignores her protests and carries her to their bedroom, where he lowers her gently to the bed.

_No one is taking me down…  
_'_Cept you, my love._


End file.
